Declare Yourself
by MusketeerAdventure
Summary: Summary: Alice Fletcher asked a question. It was the answer that eluded him.


Declare Yourself

By: MusketeerAdventure

Summary: Alice Fletcher asked a question. It was the answer that eluded him.

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"Just like to know who's lying here in my barn."

Her voice sounded sincere enough; questioning, but not in a harsh way…understanding that she needed to know. He was a stranger after all; and she with an old woman and a boy out here alone was for certain courting trouble. Only, he wasn't sure what to say. And even if he could say something it probably wouldn't be what she wanted to hear.

Sighing deeply, he watched as light filtered in through wide open wooden slabs; bringing on a new day, thus giving the barn an ethereal glow.

Squinting, he could just make out the alphabets on his letter. He had taken to sleeping with it nearby; within reach. On some level having it on hand gave him peace; and for the hundredth time was in awe of his brother's handwriting and what he might have to say.

It was his fervent wish to know what he had to say; to obtain the magical key that would break the code of the written word. This letter was why he had finally made his escape; why he separated himself…why he had left the man who undoubtedly loved him and saved his life. He hoped his brother was a straight talker; explained to him in this letter the what fors and whys of his life; the decisions made that ultimately changed the course of his own life.

He needed to know.

Smoothing out the crinkled paper as best he could, Roy stared up at the loft above him as straw trickled down to fall lightly in his hair. The walls creaked and moaned under the weight of gusty wind squalls that pushed in bits of fine misty dirt between the cracks and swirled about like glittery gold dust.

He snuggled down deeper into his blanket.

Laying here like this brought to mind the image of him and Jimmy – reclining amongst the hay. Side by side, dreaming of the future; whispering of things between them seen only in their imagination. Fanciful things handed down to them from their daddy – who marched them from pillar to post chasing after them….until death stole him away.

Jimmy had promised him back then. Together they would make it to California, see streets paved with gold; wander into the great ocean. It was a good memory. A bitter sweet memory that pained him, and had him wishing once again that he could read the letter; and to know for sure if his brother were even still alive.

The straw smelled sweet here mixed in with the morning dew and tickled his face. Plucking a stray stalk from his hair, he caressed it beneath his nose then sucked its nectar; bringing to mind his horse who loved to eat the grain straight from his hand. He loved that old horse….black as midnight; loyal and true. She had been a gift of love from Frank; one that he cherished.

He had not slept much overnight. Many things pressed him for answers let alone her question which left him wakeful; gratefully dreamless and void of nightmares. Though aches and pains gnawed at him, his body felt strangely rested.

He supposed not dreaming of fighting for his life; swimming hard against raging currents; watching the light dim from the eyes of his beloved Black; or running from the devil himself had helped. Or maybe, it was the picture of long dark hair; pensive eyes; and a solid direct call out to "declare yourself" that let him rest.

Taking a deep breath Roy winced and reached for the scar at his neck. Curiously it pained him more than the gunshot wound on his side and arm. Alice Fletcher had definitely tried to kill him. Perhaps that's why it hurt more. There was something about her. Something about this place that spoke to him, and made him feel safe. Her taking aim and shooting him in the throat hadn't changed that feeling.

It was a wonder.

Sitting up, he reached for his shirt; and slowly pulled it over his head. He broke out in a sweat and covered his face with his hands that shook minutely as he swept hair from his forehead. Maybe he was weaker than he thought; or maybe just hungry. He hadn't eaten in a while. Or perhaps his weakness had something to do with having his skin seared together by fire.

Patting his side gently he swore under his breath…..recalling the wretched pain inflicted on him by that old woman. "Dam", he whispered and wobbled to his feet.

Stretching as far as his body would let him, and messaging his scalp, he ambled over to the barn door; lifted the bar and stepped out to greet the morning. The sun was high now; he could smell the rich earth; and heavy scent of horseflesh. Scanning the vast landscape against the purple and pink sky; the small house, well, falling fence posts and drooping wire, lit something lost and now found in his belly.

Last night she wanted to know who he was, who was the man lying in her barn; who was it that she now sheltered? Frank had asked the same of him not so long ago; why he was so mad….what had changed between them. Who was he really? Just as now, he had no answer then.

Staring out at the forty or fifty horses roaming within a flimsy coral; their nervous energy ready to break free – felt kindred to him. He considered them closely as they rambled about; frowned and tried to think on who he was.

As a child he was Jimmy's little brother…alongside him, a wayward orphan; at fourteen, Frank's boy – chosen; taken in and molded into an outlaw at the knee of a master. At sixteen he was considered a veteran gunslinger; and by twenty had felt some sense of pride that he was not only feared within the Griffin gang, but feared across the territories. His name spread about in dime novels mixed in with half-truths and fairytales.

If Alice Fletcher had asked him who he was six months ago, he would tell her that he was a willing participant of a notorious gang. He was a stage coach robber; a killer who derailed trains; and absconded with payrolls from banks; mines and railway companies. He was a thief; a desperado; a bandit with a price on his head.

But she had asked him last night; and last night he couldn't answer. And now in the light of day, he was hard pressed to come up with one. He was a man without a home; without a family or friends; with only his name and a letter he couldn't read. A letter that might just hold the secret to his true identity.

And then suddenly an apparition appeared. Amidst the manes of brown, the fur of burnt rust; swaging tails of auburn was his horse….his Black, staring him down; circling; prancing; trussing up dust and baring her teeth….sending him a message loud and clear.

How could this be? With an aching heart, he had put her down himself. Was this possible? He had heard of wandering spirits in men who would not leave this earthly plane; but this? Holding his breath, he moved with purpose and pushed his way past the others to meet her in the middle of the coral. Slow and easy he stood close and gazed into her eyes. It was her alright; back from the dead to haunt him.

"A goddam ghost", he murmured and reached out to touch her; scratch her behind the ears; lift her chin and rub her nose; climb on her back and ride away. Go anywhere she wanted to go. Feel her strength beneath him – leave this place together and discover ease; calmness….peace. Here was who he was…dangerous; free; loyal. Here was who he trusted with his life. "It is you", he breathed out softly.

But Black was having none of it. She reared up on her hind legs; struck him right in the heart; and knocked him to the ground…eyes blazing with betrayal. So he held out his hand in surrender; unwilling and too tired to fight with her.

"I didn't mean it", he countered as she stamped her hooves in indignation. "I'm sorry", he continued and moved away rubbing his chest to soothe the bruise already forming; attempting to quiet that horrible moment of how he had ridden his friend into the ground; foam about her mouth; foam bubbling up from heat and exhaustion about her flank; legs trembling, unable to take another step; but trying anyway; doing whatever he asked, even though it was killing her.

He had treated her badly, fell from the saddle and released her from tortuous agony…too little, too late.

He had survived the canyon; escaped Frank Griffin's reach for the moment in order to live another day. The Black had not.

Outside the coral fence, Roy turned to face her again, shame...sharp as a knife embedded in his heart; and vowed silently….hoping this ghost could hear him; read his mind….the way his Black once could. "I'll make it up to you", he promised. "You'll see." And so made his way to the water bucket to wash his hands; neck and face from grime and guilt.

Then Truckee called out to him, "Hey mister, come on in and eat something!" His youthful voice so much like Jimmy's that the phantom knife lodged in his heart twisted the more.

Nodding back, he made a decision and moved toward the small home with Alice Fletcher waiting inside. He would answer her question one way or another. Today he would figure out who she had lying in her barn.

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Thanks for reading. This is just my brief take on what Roy was thinking in episode one. Please leave a review to let me know what you think.


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